


Whack-a-Mole and The Perfect Crepe

by Elizabeth1985



Series: Destiel Ficlets [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Annoying little brother, Brotherly chat, Dean Confident, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Dean being open with who he is, Dean oversharing, Dean traumatizes Sam, Destiel sort of, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4151844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean stumbles into the kitchen after a sleepless night and rambles on to Sam about the complexities of being attracted to everything under the sun. Except there's one problem. He's into one particular thing more than anything else and doesn't know what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whack-a-Mole and The Perfect Crepe

**Author's Note:**

> I randomly thought this up while I was getting ready for work this morning. I was literally chuckling to myself as I brushed my teeth lol. I hope you like it. Thank you to [Riley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyBrennan/pseuds/GlassClosetCastiel) for beta'ing for me!!

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, feet barely making it off the floor. His hair's a mess and he curses the lack of sleep from the night before. At the table, scouring through news on his laptop is Sam. Whatever breakfast the guy had is now nothing but an empty plate pushed off to the side.

After standing at the edge of the table for a solid minute, Sam finally looks up at him.

“What’s with you?”

Dean hedges, unsure whether to bust out with his current predicament. “Can I be brutally honest for like five minutes?”

Sam half-smiles. “Sure…” No doubt Sam is cringing over all the other times where Dean massively overshared. And ever since he’s been more comfortable with Sam about things, the TMI’s probably crossed the line towards ‘Shut the fuck up’.

“My friggin' sexual orientation is like a goddamned Whack-a-Mole!”

Sam lets out a short laugh. “What the hell is a _Whack-a-Mole_?” his brother asks.

Dean extends his hand as he explains. “You know, like one of those things at FunHouses and stuff, with the holes and you bop at it?”

With a scowl, Sam replies, “Well, the only FunHouse you ever brought me to was the Clown freakshow one and they definitely did not have a Whack-a-Mole.”

“Hmm, yeah, sorry about that. They’re pretty fun, though,” Dean says with a shrug. Sam is still glaring at him. Okay…moving on.

“Anyway, back to what I was saying. It’s like I’ve got the mallet, and there’s all these holes—“

“—Is a hole analogy really necessary?” interrupts Sam.

“Why not! So the holes… and my mallet. And I keep whacking everytime it pops up! All these different holes. I’m telling ya, Sam, it’s freakin’ confusing! I mean, _Christ_ , I’m not just talkin’ people here. I was watching TV last night and Ms. Piggy was on and damn, that little puppet is good stuff, Sammy.”

“You are so disgusting.” Sam shakes his head.

“Oh please, like you never had the hots for Belle?! C’mon, the sexy librarian type that’s into big guys with lots of hair. Don’t forget I practically raised you! You think I didn't notice you stealing that VHS from Blockbuster when you were eight?”

“How the fuck do you know about that?!” Sam reels back, wholly embarrassed.

“Oh, Sammy, big brother sees all. Get off that high horse and agree with me that cartoons can be totally hot.” Dean raises his brows, waiting for Sam to give in.

“Fine, but Ms. Piggy is a pig, Dean. There’s a difference. _Weirdo_. Anyway, where is this going?”

“Where is this going?! You’re putting the pressure on me? C’mon, just a couple years ago you didn’t even know I was into everything under the sun and more!”

Startling Dean into silence, Sam kicks up a good laugh. Enough that a glimmer of tears coat his eyes. “Dean, oh my god, are you serious?”

“What?”

“Just because you didn’t tell me you liked anything with a pulse, and even then some… doesn’t mean I didn’t know. You’re a bit lax when you’re drunk. I’ve seen you hit on a lot of a people. And once a mailbox, but you’d been suffering from blood loss after a hunt and were also wasted so that might’ve been part of the problem. Not that I was in anyway surprised when you started pulling open the letter-drop handle and asking the thing if it wanted your package.”

Oh Jesus. Dean has no recollection of hitting on a rectangular metal box. But like Sam said, it’s not all that shocking. “Okay, so whatever, you knew! Whoopity doo-da. Smart Sam knows all. My point is, of all these holes, there’s one particular hole that looks extra boppable.”

“Oh God,” Sam mutters under his breath.

Dean moseys on, “Picture a dinner buffet, Sam. No—wait! A lunch buffet!”—Dean pumps his fist—“a _BREAKFAST BUFFET_!!”

A soft groan and the sound of a forehead smacking a table reach Dean’s ears but he’s on a roll. Best explanation ever. “Mm, breakfast buffet. Dude we need to hit up one of those soon.”

“Point, Dean. Point!”

“Right, right. So, we got your sausage and your pancakes and oatmeal, and Ms. Piggy can be bacon, because obviously—“

“You’re sick.”

“—And sausage is well… _ha…_ sausage.” Dean smirks before he can continue. “And women are the delicious pastries, like pies and croissants and turnovers and such. But then what if there’s all of a sudden like a crepe station, and you can make your own crepe! With whatever you want on it. Strawberries and banana and blueberries and syrup and Nutella and whipped cream.”

“The fact that this is making me hungry is really disturbing.” Sam murmurs, his eyes fixed on the table.

“And this crepe is perfect for you. But the wait is long, it’s complex, it has layers and toppings and you need to eat carefully so you don’t ruin it. What do you do if all you want is the crepe but you don’t think you’re worthy of the crepe and you’ve always just been the guy who goes for sausage, scrambled eggs, and maybe a buttered croissant here and there? What then?”

All of a sudden the moment is serious and Sam’s meeting his eyes and scrutinizing him the way a scientist might review one of their experiments. Dean would normally be annoyed but he’s hoping the intense assessment will bear some fruitful intuition.

“You’re my brother, I love ya, but I’m gonna take your buffet analogy and just shove it into a corner because it’s weird and we are never again going to a breakfast buffet together. Secondly, I know you’re in love with Cas.”

Dean sputters, trying to play the idiot. “What does Cas have anything to do with this?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Cas is the crepe. You want the crepe. It’s fine Dean. I’ve known for years.”

“I may need to sit down,” Dean mumbles, mostly to no one in particular. Instead, he stands, shifting on his feet. “I’m having a hard time sleeping,” he admits.

“Then tell him. Go get your crepe, Dean!” Sam smiles, all full of innocent encouragement. Like this couldn’t possibly go totally sideways on him and crush him. Fuck, Dean knows it, he could be crushed. And with what they do? There’s no room in this life for loved ones like that.

“You and I both tried having someone. It didn’t work.”

“Cas is different. Just like you said.”

“No, I said Cas is special…and perfect and complicated. That in no way equates to success as far as relationships go…and I don’t even know what he would say.”

Sam finally gets up from the table, taking his plate with him and rinses it in the sink. He looks over his shoulder to Dean. “He’s in love with you, you know that.” Sam doesn’t belittle his intelligence by making that a question. Yes, they both know Cas’ feelings. It had become more and more obvious over the years. Neither of them ever vocalized their suspicions.

Dean sighs, throws his head back and says, “I know, I know. But if I take that leap and someone blows up my breakfast buffet, then everyone will be unhappy and things will be weird or tragic or… Fuck, Sam, I don’t want this to be a Soap Opera-slash-horror movie. I _hate_ Soap Operas.”

“Sure ya do, Jensen Ackles, star of Days of Our Lives.” Sam’s laughing arrogantly to himself as he dries his dishes and places them beside the sink.

Dean snorts. “Never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

“Umm, _never_.”

“Whatever. You married Ruby and had a camel.”

“An alpaca,” Sam clarifies, his tone precise.

“Whatever. What do I even say?” The conversation steers back to Cas and feelings and all that BS. Dean wishes he’d spent the morning looking at porn. At least a good jerk-off sesh would’ve probably paved the way for a good nap. All night he’d been thinking about what turns him on, what makes him happy, what makes him nervous. Cas was the main answer to every ‘ _what’_ he’d asked himself.

“Get Cas alone and say ‘I am a dumbass and an idiot and I love you, please kiss me and be with me and make me happy so that I stop annoying my younger brother with the longing stares I give you and all the times he hears me jerk off to you.’” Sam’s teasing smile is wide and on the verge of a laugh. “Perfect, right? Just say all that.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“The little brother’s job is to annoy the older brother. I’m only doing my sworn duty, here.” Sam’s light expression sobers in a flash, and his hazel eyes pin Dean to the spot. “It’ll be fine, Dean. I promise.”

“Big talk coming from the guy who went behind my back and released fucking _Darkness_ into the atmosphere.” Dean knows the words are cruel, but he says them with a casual air. Since that day they’d gone from violent yelling matches and a couple of fists thrown between them to some really candid discussions. Things have been better since. Dean hopes it stays that way.

“I promised I would fix you,” Sam says, “and I did.”

True enough. “At the expense of God-knows-what.” Meaning… what happens if he and Cas actually work out somehow. What has to give for Dean Winchester to be happy?

“Don’t over-think it or you’ll give yourself brain cancer. Take the car, go track down Cas who’s still babysitting Rowena, and lay it on the line.”

Dean considers just how easy that would be. And what a relief too. He’s been wanting to break through the barriers for years. Realistically, it’s not like the world will actually end if he goes through with this.

Fuck it, he thinks. “Goddammit…I’m gonna eat some crepe.”

Sam’s eyebrows bend together, a twitching smile lightens his familiar features. “You’re totally stopping at a breakfast buffet on the way there, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am.”

Looking down at the floor, Sam shakes his head and laughs in a low series of huffs. “Good. Whatever you do, promise me you won’t tell Cas that you compared him to a carnival game of holes that you smash with a mallet.”

Dean raises his finger in the air. “You don’t whack the holes Sam, you whack the mole thing that comes out of the holes. Geez, get with the program.”

“Breakfast buffet. Crepe. Cas. _Go!”_

An anticipatory smile stretches his face. “Yeah. I’m on it!”

Dean dashes back to his room, changes up his clothes, looks himself in the mirror and then grabs his keys and makes his way to the front of the bunker. Sam is already there with a banana held out to him.

“For the road,” he says, offering the fruit.

Eyeing both the banana and his brother suspiciously, Dean says, “A banana, Sam? Really? Suggestive much.”

Sam laughs. “An innocent offering of a snack for the road.”

“I hate you.”

Groaning his annoyance, Sam shoves the fruit into one of the open pockets of his duffel bag and practically shoves him up the stairs. “Have fun!”

Dean turns back with a smirk. “Oh, I plan to.”

Just as the door is closing with a creaky groan, Dean hears the angrily mumbled, ‘ _About fucking time.’_

Friggin’ right. Been wantin’ that crepe for years! Dean smiles and does a little dance on his way to the car. Things are looking up.

“The darkness can suck my dick,” he yells at the sky. “Unless Cas wants to, of course. How about that, _God_?” he sneers. “Your angel is going to be all mine, doucheterd! And I’m gonna treat him better than any of you asshats ever did!”

Dean’s phone buzzes in his pocket. The message from Sam says, “ _You know the door isn’t sound proof, right?”_

Whoops. Keys in the car. Engine start. Pedal to the metal. Time to drive off to something delicious and complex and perfect. But first, Dean thinks, where the hell is the closest breakfast buffet? 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. Comments and kudos always make my day :)


End file.
